the softest sigh

Here I am, losing myself. Pressing into your body, enwtining my legs through yours. We knew this would happen tonight. We felt it, could taste it in the air. Your hands run across my stomach, tracing a pattern I do not understand. In the wake of your fingertips is trail of fireworks. I try to concentrate on not kissing you. I try to distract myself with the tv, but the images only numb my eyes and make me think harder of your mouth.

Your lips are soft, fuller then I expected. Your tongue dips in, out. I reach for more and I am so aware of your body pressed into mine that I am almost sure my brain will burst. My heart is beating so quickly and under your black Graveyard Blues t-shirt, I feel yours quicken too. I keep my eyes closed and push my hair up out of the way, running my fingers through the blonde waves. I wonder if you think I am a terrible kisser. I have a moment of panic and then the vodka numbs the emotion, as vodka has a habit of doing. I pull away slightly and almost laugh at how you lean up for more, throw me over so I am pinned, press your mouth harder.

I have wanted this for so long. Now here I am and I can't do it anymore. I pull away and lie my head on the pillow. Your arm stays wrapped around my torso. We lie there and I turn my head so I can look at you and I watch you breathe. Your nose is bigger from this angle, although this a thought I quickly attempt to expel. It's a nice nose, slightly curved, thin. Your skin is pale and washed in an electric blue from the tlevision. My lips spark, I am so desperate to kiss your neck. I imagine it softer then your cheek, which has the soft pinpricks of stubble. We lie there and Jack Johnson's voice is washing over me. I know that tomorrow I will download that song and play it over and over, to remember. Trying to remember every moment that the vodka has erased. You tell me how drunk you are and I know it's a lie but I bite my tongue. Light breaks through the window, dawn has been delivered. A new day is being born and I know I will be pushed into it, long before I will be ready. There is a cool breeze coming in through the hole in the window (looking at it in the daylight, i realise there is more hole then window, and I hide a smile. Even this stupid hole, designed by a beer bottle, makes me love you more). The fresh air makes me realise how stuffy the room is and you must think so to because you rise from the bed.

You drive me home and we talk of nothing. Our words are pointless, just letters strung together in a recognizeable design. I wander through the hallway of the apartment, tripping over my own feet. For a moment I sit on the ugly brown carpet, leaning my back against the cream wall. I rest in a haze of happiness. Later, I will be horribly confused about what happened between us, or more, what didn't happen. What might have happened, what will happen, what I hope for. I will be lost in a no man's land between falling harder for you and turning my back on you. For now, I lie against the cold wall and remember the pattern across my stomach. And realise you were spelling your name.

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Popping in to give you a review that must have missed its stop thirteen years ago.

First off, I feel that the blocky paragraphs, especially the third one, detracts from this story rather than adds to it. Big sections are hard to get through, with all sorts of tangents that could meet in the middle and leave the reader even more confused. Also, some of these sentences read as fragments with comma splices, which also distract me as I feel like I'm trying to put these into separate lines too.

As for the actual content, this left a bad taste in my mouth. Every step of progression pushes this night into something regretted and even unwanted, and that makes me a little sad and a little confused. I'm guessing the speaker at least isn't past her mid-twenties, as I'd say older adults usually don't worry about being bad kisser by then. But maybe I'm wrong.

There's a kinda eerie feeling of naivety here, combined with almost a self-punishing attitude. I'm perplexed by the opening paragraph, as she talks about how they both knew this would happen. But, then she tries to not kiss him, to get distracted by what they were doing, or what their actions were leading up to. Yet, later the start of paragraph number three has "I have wanted this for so long."

I think that the narration here sets the reader apart from the characters, and I'd rather see closer thoughts. Maybe at least having the doubts with a line of how was looking forward to this, to better show the conflict. Not wanting to do this is one thing, but it seems like they'd have their mind made up in some way even without expressing that verbally to their partner. I do wish she would have done that at some time.

Overall, I don't view this as very romantic, instead, I read this as implied non-consensual, and that makes me sadder than anything.

All I can say is I really loved this. Just the way you wrote it seemed to make it so easy to empathise with. I disagree with Mattie; that is, I don't think you need to put what the guy is thinking, the girl's POV does fine here.

I too, liked how you wrote it. The only thing is, what is the guy thinking? What's going on in his mind? I'd have to say this is my favorite piece of writing I've read so far besides what Kit? has sent in. And this is my favorite part and I think you did a great job:

We lie there and Jack Johnson's voice is washing over me. I know that tomorrow I will download that song and play it over and over, to remember. Trying to remember every moment that the vodka has erased.

I have felt like that before, wanting to remember the good things but you can't. Only the bad of the situation. This is great and I hope to read more!